


It's Complicated

by Vixenmage



Category: Bruce Almighty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-02-27
Updated: 2011-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-16 00:01:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixenmage/pseuds/Vixenmage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In addition to dealing with and answering prayers, the job description of God encompasses the afterlife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Complicated

The scene spread out before him, sprawling, dismal, and chaotic as they come. Bruce surveyed the whole mess with an eye predisposed to despair, and things weren't looking good. As he reminded himself for the third time that he was not in a position to rail against the heavens, he felt someone standing behind him who hadn't been there a moment ago, and jumped.

"Having trouble, Bruce?"

He glared at the not-quite-glowing form. "You know exactly how much trouble I'm having," he growled. "This is impossible! The whole thing! There's no system, no formula, no points, no... anything!"

The man he'd slowly come to believe was, in fact, God, raised a faintly amused eyebrow. "Now, Bruce. Surely you didn't think the afterlife, an eternal destination, the next leg of eternity is scored point by point like a sports game?"

Bruce opened his mouth angrily... and realized that wasn't an argument he was even remotely prepared to make. "I don't know what I thought!" He thought he was beginning to develop a serious allergy to Wise And Kindly Rhetorical Questions, at the moment.

"Mmmm. That's a sign of growth, you know. When something begins to rub, it's time to move up a size."

The now quite irritated mortal glared at his maker. "Are you going to say anything useful, or just keep giving me Wise Old Man advice?"

"Now, Bruce, that's just rude!" He grinned at the annoyed newscaster. "Remember, how you see it is all about how you're looking at it," he said cheerfully, and vanished in the twinkling of an eye. Bruce kicked viciously at the ground where he'd been standing, and returned his attention to the writhing, glowing, pulsing Gordian Knot hanging in space before him.

"How about... another filing system?" The mass vanished, replaced by a neat, orderly, and equally massive file cabinet. Bruce snarled under his breath and pulled out the first folder. There was a light blue sticky note on it.

 _I understand the convenience aspect, but you should know the solution makes a lot more sense the other way. This modern approach rather misses the point._

With a slightly manic grin, he crushed it into a ball and threw it over one shoulder, ignoring the chiming musical effects as he did so. "Alright, let's see here... Diane Lechienschmidt? What in the world...?"

It appeared to be someone's permanent record. Started with the note First conscious thought, regarding a butterfly: pretty. First word: chicken. Regarding her brother's stuffed animal. First moment aware of a choice between right and wrong: her mother's admonition concerning her brother's cookie; her brother's dismay at disappearance of cookie. Bruce frowned and flipped forward to the end of the file. "Final thought... the flower on her daughter's... What is this?"

"It's her life."

As usual, the quiet voice behind him had him nearly jumping out of his skin. "Then..." he faltered. "She's..."

"Dead, yes. She was eighty-six, four months, and three days. Lived a full life, fuller than most. Had two kids, ran a florist shop, raised her brother's kid when he died, too."

Bruce looked over the filing cabinet. The whole thing would take him a lifetime of his own to finish, he realized. "Wouldn't it be easier to... ah..." he paused. "I could just send everyone to Heaven, couldn't I?" He glanced over his shoulder for some kind of answer.

A raised eyebrow. "About 34 percent of those files believed in reincarnation. How are you going to explain skipping the majority of their lifetimes to them?"

Bruce tore at his hair in frustration. "Fine! They'll be reincarnated! How do I decide where they go?"

"What, you never studied the divine aspects of dharma? Alright, we'll come to them later, then. The next percentage is atheists. What about them?"

Bruce faltered. "...Hell?"

"Really? I'm surprised, Bruce. Most of them lived good lives - better than you might expect. This one here..." he pulled out a file, about two-thirds of the way down the drawer, "Spent most of his life researching a cure for cancer, and died penniless from his exhaustive attempts. This one..." pulling out another, "Died from inhaling toxic fumes while saving kids from a burning orphanage. Are you really condemning them to Hell? I would not have expected that from you..." he trailed off. Bruce was not listening. He had slid off the comfortable office chair, and was sitting on the ground under the filing cabinet, rhythmically thumping his head against the side.

God laughed. "I suppose I can't fault you for not knowing this, but the general rule behind governing the universe, Bruce, is It's More Complicated Than That. Commit it to memory."


End file.
